


stand down (drop these weapons now)

by someonelsesheart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, These are just excuses to analyse the characters tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7165793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonelsesheart/pseuds/someonelsesheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Does violence always have to be the answer?”</p>
<p>“It is the only way I know how.”</p>
<p>“How to what?”</p>
<p>“How to show you,” Widow says, and breaks off again, and Mercy understands. </p>
<p>Amélie was both soft and hard, but she was kind. She knew how to show you how much she cared about you. Small things – kisses on the cheek, her hands on your shoulders, words. <i> I love you, Angela, I love you more than anything. You’re my best friend. </i> </p>
<p>Widow shows it the only way she knows how. With guns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stand down (drop these weapons now)

**Author's Note:**

> I am so in love with kindadark!Mercy. I am literal Mercy trash.

They meet only under the dark of night. In old, smoky bars, because nobody thinks you’re an ex-Overwatch agent when you’re drinking whiskey and dressed in black. Heroes are pretty, you see. Perfect.

Or at least they used to be. A lot of people like to think Mercy’s one of the Good ones, one of the Pure ones. She smiles at the thought as she downs her shot of vodka.

Often, it’s an accident. On this night it is. Mercy isn’t expecting to see her – though, of course, a part of her always _hopes._ She'd had to bring back a patient – a little girl – from the brink of death that evening. The look of gratitude in the parents’ eyes had been nothing to quell the guilt in her gut, guilt for a sin she wasn’t even sure of the reason for.

Around ten o’clock, a hush falls over the room and Mercy almost laughs. Because of course now. Of course tonight.

“Darlings,” drawls Widowmaker. “As you were.”

After a brief hesitation, the bustle of the bar picks back up again. Widow slides into the seat beside Mercy and beckons the bartender. She is polite as she asks for her drink, as if she wouldn’t have easily put a bullet in his head just for breathing.

She looks – just the same, but never how Mercy remembers her.

In fact, the Amélie Mercy remembers is long gone, buried under cold skin and dark, flashing eyes. This doesn’t make it any easier not to resist the pull, because Widow is still _Amélie,_ somewhere. She still has that smile, anyway. The drawl. The gaze that makes you feel like squirming under her sight.

_Nobody hides from my sight,_ Mercy heard Widow say once, and she thinks maybe that’s a little too true.

Widow is still as confronting and beautiful as ever.

The bartender places Widow’s drinks in front of her and flees. Widow looks amused. She runs her finger around the rim of her glass and says, “Honestly, I was not quite expecting to see you here tonight, _ma chérie._ ”

“I was _hoping_ I wouldn’t see you, really,” Mercy says, but there’s no heat behind it.

Widow seems to know this. She smiles, sharp. “Where’s your sass, little healer?”

“I don’t know,” says Mercy. “Perhaps it was drained out of me when I saved a child from near death today. Because of _you._ ”

Widow’s eyes narrow. “I do not kill children.”

“You work for Talon, and Talon tried to kill her family.”

Widow is silent. Her fingers are tight around the glass. “Working for Talon is beneficial to me.”

“You mean monetarily.”

“Also, if I leave, they may hurt those I am inclined to protect.”

“You mean those you _care_ about?” Mercy almost spits. “Do you care about anybody but yourself, Am—Widow? They took that away from you, they took _everything_ away.”

“Certain things are worth protecting. I have been considering it.”

“What, feeling human emotion?” Mercy snorts. “Don’t tell me Reaper has evoked this change in you.”

Widow almost looks disgusted. “That is purely a professional relationship, Mercy. I assure you, there is no hanging on to the past there.”

It’s easy for her to say. Widow didn’t understand what it was like to watch your best friend, the girl you’re in _love_ with, fall in love with another man. And then kill him. And then team up with a man who used to be your friend in some sort of terrorist duo.

“It’s you, Mercy,” Widow says, and she doesn’t look Mercy in the eyes.

“What?”

“I would like to protect you,” she says, “if you would let me.”

Mercy just stands and walks out, doesn’t say a word in reply. She can’t do this. She can’t sit next to the woman who used to be Amélie Lacroix, who at one time she thought would be the love of her life. At one time. Sometimes she would do anything to go back. Maybe if she had made a move before Amélie had met Gerard, and then they could have been together, maybe, and then Gerard may never have died and Widowmaker would never exist at all. She stands out alone and in the cold in the alleyway beside the bar, trying her very best not to cry. She succeeds, just, focusing on taking slow, deep breaths.

“You cannot change the past,” Widow says from behind her. Mercy honestly hadn’t expected her to follow. “ _I_ cannot change the past. They changed me, Mercy. You are correct, I do not feel human emotion as you do. But sometimes it is there, and it scares me. I know I am not what you want – or _who_ you want –”

“Does violence always have to be the answer?”

“It is the only way I know how.”

“How to what?”

“How to _show_ you,” Widow says, and breaks off again, and Mercy understands.

Amélie was both soft and hard, but she was kind. She knew how to show you how much she cared about you. Small things – kisses on the cheek, her hands on your shoulders, words. _I love you, Angela, I love you more than anything. You’re my best friend._

Widow shows it the only way she knows how. With guns.

Mercy swallows. She suddenly feels so tired, like she can barely hold herself up. “You care about me?”

“I want to protect you from harm,” says Widow, which isn’t exactly a no.

Mercy can’t help it – she surges forward and kisses her, arms pulling her close. Widow seems unsure as to what to do with her hands, but then they drop to Mercy’s hips and hold her tight against Widow.

“I am not her,” Widow whispers when she pulls back. “Mercy, you must understand.”

Mercy doesn’t say anything. She turns away, hand over her mouth. She can still feel Widow’s lips against hers.

“I need you, Angela,” Widow says. “I need your help.”

“For what? You want me to heal you when you’re broken? To heal your wounds?”

“To remind me that I’m human.”

Mercy has no clue what to say to that. She doesn’t have to, in fact, because they’re interrupted by a drawl of “Well, isn’t this sweet.”

Widowmaker’s back immediately straightens, her hands going to her gun at her waist, her eyes narrowing. She relaxes just slightly when she sees who it is, but she adjusts herself so she is in between Mercy and the newcomer.

“Reaper,” says Widowmaker coolly. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I find you can,” he murmurs, and he sounds almost amused. “How good of you to capture their best healer. Were you saving her so that I could deal the killing blow, Widowmaker?” He ghosts forward, pulling his shotguns out.

Widow’s hand shoots out. “Touch her and I’ll put a bullet in your head, Reaper.”

“You think you could take me?” Reaper looks amused. “You think you could _kill_ me? Not to mention get away with it, Widow.”

He has a point. Mercy knows this. It would be a fairly evenly matched fight, but Widow’s skill lies in long distance. Up close, she would struggle against Reaper.

Still, Widowmaker is not backing down.

All Reaper has to do is raise his guns, and Widow grabs him by the neck and slams him against the wall. His shotguns sit snug against her torso, but neither of them flinch or act.

Reaper looks at her for a very long moment, and he appears to approve of what he finds. “I understand,” he says, and pushes her off of him. He puts the guns away, and casts Mercy a glance. “If I catch you without your bodyguard you will not get away so lucky, healer. Let us both hope we do not see each other again.”

Mercy says, “Perhaps that is best, Gabriel.”

He is turning away, but he freezes at the name. For a moment, his whole body is unmoving, and he looks back at Mercy. There is something in his eyes – something that pushes past his need for revenge, his inability for compassionate emotion. Something almost like regret.

“Perhaps,” he says, and he crosses his guns over his chest and teleports away.

Widow does not relax when he is gone. She only says, “I think you should get somewhere safe.”

“And you?”

“I must return to Talon,” she says. “If they find out about this, they may kill me.”

“And you return to them anyway.”

“For now,” she says. “For now, Mercy, I must.”

She presses a gentle kiss to Mercy’s cheek and then turns, hooking onto a nearby roof. She disappears into the darkness, but Mercy has a feeling she will have a ghost the entire walk home. The thought almost makes her smile, despite the sick feeling in her gut, and she presses her fingers to her cheek where Widow kissed it.

_For now,_ Widow had said, where Mercy had heard _Maybe someday._

_Maybe someday,_ Mercy thinks, the thought encouraging, and she begins the walk home.

 


End file.
